


Reclamation

by gleefulmusings



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Glee, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Family, Kurt Hummel is Magic, M/M, Multiple Crossovers, Psychic Abilities, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3342890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gleefulmusings/pseuds/gleefulmusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Hansen is the newest liberated Borg drone to take up residence on the Federation starship Voyager. That he is the previously unknown biological brother of Seven of Nine is the least of the surprises he brings with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prodigal

**Author's Note:**

> Trek canon and science will be abused to suit my whims, so purists best abandon ship now. All others, please enjoy!

"Report," Janeway briskly demanded as she stormed into Sick Bay.

The Doctor pursed his lips and gently laid down his tricorder, looking slowly from his newest patient to his captain. He was unsurprised yet troubled when he noted Seven of Nine was a stalwart presence at Janeway's side, as she usually was of late.

The captain noted his pensive expression and frowned. She really wasn't in the mood to hear bad news. Voyager had survived yet another minor scuffle with the Borg and had managed to liberate another drone. She was worried enough this latest encounter would soon make its way back to the Queen; she had to prepare for an eventual reckoning.

She also just didn't have time to mentor another person who was about to travel down the path to reclaiming their humanity. Of course, she wasn't so arrogant as to think she had been _that_ pivotal in Seven's journey, but she hoped she had proved to be a stabilizing influence while providing a patient ear. If Seven's progress with Icheb was any indication, she had been, and Seven was definitely paying it forward.

"You are reticent to discuss the drone's condition in my presence," Seven deduced, staring at the Doctor. "Why?"

He pursed his lips. More social lessons were obviously in order. He had been hoping once she recognized his hesitation, she would simply remove herself from their company, leaving him alone with Janeway. Once again, his hope was in vain, as it often was where Seven was concerned.

"Doctor?" Janeway asked, a subtle indication that Seven was in her confidence and he should proceed accordingly.

"You refused to allow me to assist you in removing the drone's Borg implants," Seven huffed. "Were you unsuccessful in your endeavor?"

"No," the Doctor said shortly, glaring at her. "I have unearthed a wealth of information regarding this particular ... individual."

Janeway narrowed her eyes at his particular choice of noun. "Explain."

The Doctor despaired that Janeway and Seven were now heavily borrowing each other's speech patterns. He sighed.

"He was very lucky that we discovered his escape pod when we did," he said softly. "He would have not survived otherwise."

"Of course not," Seven scoffed. "The Borg were already on an intercept path with his capsule, presumably to reassimilate him."

The Doctor raised a brow. "That alone should signal to you this boy's significance. Why would the Borg expend such resources to recapture a single drone?"

Seven blinked and unconsciously stepped back, her mind returning to when she had been cajoled into rejoining the Borg to spare Voyager from assimilation.

Janeway's mind was whirling with what the Doctor wasn't saying. "He wasn't jettisoned from a cube or sphere, was he? He escaped."

He gave a short nod. "That is my belief, yes."

"Based on what criteria?" Seven demanded.

The Doctor grimaced. "Based on the fact that he had already removed most of his implants himself."

Seven and Janeway stared.

"He did an admirable job," the Doctor added.

Seven's breath hitched. "Drones are provided ... "

The Doctor waved her away. "Yes, I'm aware that Borg drones are programmed with detailed knowledge of comparative xenobiology as well as how their own implants function in conjunction with their physiology, but I sincerely doubt it was that knowledge that compelled Kurt to remove his Borg components."

Janeway's brow furrowed. "Kurt?"

"His name."

"Clarify," Seven said through narrowed eyes.

The Doctor sighed once more and led them to the examination table. He gently took the boy's arm in his hand and turned it over, the back of the forearm becoming visible.

Janeway gasped in horror.

Seven stared uncomprehendingly.

On the inside of the arm was carved the name _Kurt_.

"You realize, of course," the Doctor said blandly, "that in order for the tissue to scar to this extent, he would have had to carve this into his skin repeatedly." He released the arm and looked away. "Most likely in a bid to remember his ... human designation."

"He's human," Janeway repeated in a whisper.

A stoic affirmative reply was stated.

Janeway set her mouth in a grim line as she blinked back furious tears that were building in her eyes. Before her laid a human man, little more than a child, who had obviously never truly lost his individuality but had instead rallied repeatedly to reassert it. The dedication and effort required for such an effort, as well as the numerous punishments he surely received, were not lost on her.

Just when she believed she couldn't despise the Borg any more than she already did, she was proven wrong.

"I am ... confused," Seven admitted. "When I was recaptured by the Queen, she wished to utilize my experiences on Voyager in order to further her ambition to assimilate humanity. In that vein, I assimilated a vast amount of data, including the number and designations of formerly human drones. This drone is unknown to me."

"I suspect there is a very good reason for that," the Doctor said darkly. After a noticeable pause and with doubt plainly reflected in his holographic eyes, he gestured them over to his primary work station. "I ran the standard bloodwork panel as well as a DNA analysis. When those findings proved ... unusual ... I followed with mitochondrial DNA testing. The results are incontrovertible."

His fingers flew rapidly across the keys and he stepped back when the results of his analysis displayed themselves onscreen.

"A match?" muttered a bewildered Janeway.

"To whom?" Seven asked.

"You," the Doctor said quietly. "Kurt shares approximately half your genetic material, Seven. At first I considered the sample might be contaminated, so I took another. And then four more. Then I hypothesized that my equipment was perhaps malfunctioning. A rather surly Lieutenant Torres, after several hours of examination, insisted that it was not.

"Still, I ran several more comprehensive panels to be certain, and it is with a high degree of medical certainty that I can state without equivocation that this young man, Kurt, is not only your fellow drone but your biological sibling. He is your brother."

Seven blinked owlishly at him before slowly turning her gaze toward the unconscious boy in question.

The Doctor's examination was obviously flawed, as were all of his tests. They had to be. She had recovered more and more memories about her time with her parents and was positive she had no siblings. There had been no other children aboard the Raven save her when the Borg attacked.

The Doctor opened his mouth to elaborate upon his findings, but it sounded only like distant quacking to Seven, who threw off Janeway's comforting arm and fled the room.

"You're certain," Janeway said lowly.

"Beyond any reasonable doubt," he confirmed. "His physiology suggests he spent some time in a Borg maturation chamber, so I cannot be exact with his true chronological age, of course, but in his current state, my findings indicate he is approximately eighteen, six years younger than Seven's accepted age."

Janeway blinked. "But Seven was six when her family was captured by the Borg and assimilated."

He regarded her with breathtaking compassion.

Her hands shook. "You're suggesting ... your hypothesis is that Erin Hansen was pregnant when the Borg attacked and that the Borg ... _harvested_ the fetus?"

They both remembered the Borg infant who had been present aboard Icheb's cube and was later adopted, along with Mezoti, by Azan and Rebi's parents when the twins had been returned to their home world.

Janeway vomited.


	2. He is Also Thy Brother

Kathryn slowly panned around the conference room table, taking in the various expressions of her senior staff. Her explanation of the history of Kurt Hansen, both empirical and extrapolated, was gruesome. She hadn't bothered to spare their sensibilities nor hide her revulsion from these unexpected Borg practices.

Her First Officer, Chakotay, was a sensitive man with strong morals and ethics. He revered life in all forms and thus his shock and horror were unsurprising. He looked troubled and deeply sad. He was still sometimes wary of Seven and her motives, that her ultimate loyalty was to the Borg and not Voyager, but he obviously sympathized with her predicament.

She was surprised that chief pilot Lieutenant Tom Paris had foregone his usual penchant for finding the dark humor in any given situation. For all of his bluster, Tom was a good man and had been one of the more accepting and welcoming members of the crew when Seven of Nine had joined. They weren't exactly friends, but Paris was perhaps the one colleague about whom Seven complained the least.

The anger of Chief Engineer B'Elanna Torres was legendary throughout the ship, probably the quadrant, and possibly the galaxy. She and Seven were grudging colleagues at best and though both recognized the other's brilliance, Kathryn had nevertheless done her best to keep them separated whenever possible. A shared duty shift was like placing two cats in a box.

"How is Seven handling this?" the woman barked.

Janeway was startled to realize that B'Elanna was angry _on behalf_ of Seven of Nine. More than that, she was offended; mortally so.

"Not well," Kathryn softly admitted. "She refuses to speak with me or the Doctor."

Ensign Harry Kim sucked in a sharp breath. If anyone could get through to Seven, if she had any real confidantes aboard Voyager, it was the Captain and the Doctor.

A small smile appeared on Janeway's face. "Naomi Wildman has installed herself in Cargo Bay Two and refuses to leave Seven's side. She banished Icheb for being a boy. Seven's repeated insistence that Naomi's presence is unauthorized doesn't appear to bother the girl in the slightest."

B'Elanna smiled. She and Seven would probably never really get along and she took issue with Seven's approach to almost everything, but even she couldn't deny the genuine affection Seven held for their youngest passenger. Naomi adored Seven and, while Seven would never acknowledge it, that adoration was fully returned.

"And Kurt?" Neelix asked. "Has he woken?"

"No," Janeway said, "and the Doctor isn't sure when he will. The boy removed most of his implants himself, and while he had the requisite knowledge and some preprogrammed level of skill, he's not a surgeon. He has a mild infection which the Doctor believes will resolve itself fairly quickly, but he's still asleep."

"I can't even imagine," B'Elanna murmured, "the strength of will and character it must have taken for him to rebel against multiple reassimilations." Her eyes darted around the table. "That's what we're assuming happened, right? That every time he managed to break free from the Borg's control, they forcibly reassimilated him?"

"That is the Doctor's theory, yes," Kathryn said, "and the evidence backs him up on that."

"The question to which I want the answer is why," Tuvok said. As a Vulcan, he was ruled by logic, and Seven, to whom rational thought was the only acceptable mode of operation, was something of a kindred spirit to him. Seven often refused to recognize the rank of the other officers, but would usually defer to Tuvok. She respected him that much and that mattered; to Janeway and Tuvok himself.

"It is illogical," he continued, "for a race of billions to expend such resources to keep this boy within the Collective. What is it about him they so desired?"

"The goal of assimilation is to add biological and technological distinctiveness to the Collective," Chakotay said. "I fail to see how Kurt adds any technological competence to their coffers. He was a fetus when assimilated and in possession of no helpful knowledge."

"You think it's biological, then?" Harry asked.

Chakotay shrugged a shoulder. "They tried to recapture Seven and they probably want her still. Remember that Kurt was added to the Collective at the same moment as his sister. I believe that whatever the Queen wants with them lies within their genome."

"A logical supposition," said a bland Tuvok.

"So is Kurt similar to Seven in how he functions?" Tom asked. "I mean, does he have an ocular implant or a cortical node or something?"

Kathryn frowned. "His eyes were untouched during the assimilations, which is unusual. He did have heavy exoplating and will have to wear garments similar to what Seven wears until his human integumentary system more fully reasserts itself. The Doctor has stimulated follicular growth and is designing a neurotransmitter protocol to help compensate for the overly stimulated immune system.

"Unlike Seven's experience, Kurt's human cells are not fighting off the presence of the nanoprobes, so there is a constant threat the cybernetic implants will reform. He has a reinforced cardiopulmonary system and what I guess could be considered the standard neural Borg implants to regulate his vital functions. They include cortical, sensory, and chronometric nodes; a neural processor; and an interplexing beacon, though the Doctor has disabled the translink frequency.

"The Doctor is doubtful those could ever be removed without causing a persistent vegetative state or death," she finished, "any more than they can be removed from Seven. The implants have simply been part of their physiology for too long. They can't function without them."

"What does Icheb think about all of this?" Harry asked.

Kathryn paused. "I haven't spoken with him directly," she admitted. "He requested he be allowed to help the Doctor with Kurt's transition and the Doctor agreed, though I doubt there is much Icheb can do." She shrugged. "A second pair of hands couldn't hurt. From what the Doctor has told me, Icheb is concerned for Seven and intrigued by Kurt."

"I would imagine he draws comfort from the presence of another former Borg," Tuvok surmised. "Despite his stoic demeanor, he has suffered from the loss of Mezoti and the twins."

Chakotay offered a small smile. "Even though we are a family, we cannot help but be drawn to those who are most like us." He inclined his head. "And, admittedly, the Borg experience is unique."

Kathryn sighed. "We all have unique relationships with Seven and I know that some of you have been more than generous is extending her leeway concerning her, well, eccentricities. I ask that you be even more flexible in your dealings with her during this time. This situation is having a ... deleterious ... effect on some of the beliefs she holds most dear. Regardless of her acceptance that the Borg is no way magnanimous, they were her family for the majority of her life."

"And now she's forced to confront the reality that they took more from her than she ever realized," Tom said quietly.

B'Elanna exhaled. "Look, we all know my relationship with Seven of Nine has often been contentious if not outright adversarial, but she's come through for this ship when it's counted most, at great risk to herself and on more than one occasion." She looked around. "I think it's time we repaid that."

"And Kurt?" Harry asked.

Kathryn closed her eyes briefly. "We won't know until he wakes up. Until then, we have no choice but to play it by ear."

* * *

"You should go see him," Naomi gently prodded her friend.

Seven ignored the pleading eyes. "My presence is unnecessary. The drone is not even conscious. I can offer no assistance."

"You can't just ignore this and hope it will go away," said a wise Naomi in a very stern voice.

Seven said nothing.

"Is he going to stay on Voyager?"

"For the foreseeable future, yes," was the brisk response.

"And his implants still regulate his core systems?"

For a moment, Seven was taken aback. Despite her many hours tutoring Naomi, even she was sometimes fooled by her appearance. Naomi Wildman was only a girl, still a subunit until maturation, but she had a keen mind and a thirst to prove herself. She also spoke more articulately than most of the crew.

"They do."

"Then he will eventually need to regenerate. This cargo bay is the only place onboard that has regeneration alcoves, which means he will regenerate here with you and Icheb." Naomi raised a brow. "Seven," she said more gently, "you're going to have to face this sooner rather than later."

Seven stilled.

"He's your brother," Naomi whispered, "your family. That means something. Do you really think his arrival was just happenstance?"

Seven whirled on her heel. "Explain."

"He probably escaped from Unimatrix One, right? In the entire quadrant, he just happened to intercept Voyager's path?" She shook her head. "He may have been unknown to you, but I'm betting he knows who you are. He was trying to find you. He was trying to find his sister."

Seven's eyes widened with realization.

"The Borg took him from you, kept him from you. Don't let them win. He needs you, Seven. Go to him."

Seven was silent for a very long time. "Will you accompany me?" she finally asked.

"Of course. What are friends for?"


	3. Kith and Kin

"Status," Seven barked as she stomped into Sick Bay, Naomi hot on her heels.

The Doctor sighed. The last thing he needed during this precarious time was for Seven to become even more confrontational, yet he feared the situation was already lost. He was distressed when Icheb immediately abandoned him to stand beside Seven.

As one, Seven, Icheb, and Naomi stared at the Doctor, each arching an eyebrow in silent demand. This was all just completely unfair in his humble opinion.

"He has not yet awoken," Icheb said in his quiet monotone, which was nevertheless oddly musical, "but his infection is resolving itself at a phenomenal rate."

Seven was unsurprised. The drone was, after all, Borg. "His other injuries?"

"Mostly irrelevant," Icheb replied. "Aside from the infection, he is in good health, though still unconscious."

"I don't know why," the Doctor said before Seven could posit her next logical question. "There is no physiological reason for his continued slumber. He could very well simply be exhausted from his adventure." His mouth tightened. "I cannot perform further scans as he has erected a multi-spacial transphasic forcefield around himself. I am now unable to approach him at all."

Seven gave a slow blink, her confusion obvious. "Impossible. Drones do not have that capability."

Naomi tugged on her arm. "He isn't a drone, Seven, anymore than you or Icheb."

Seven said nothing but Icheb gave Naomi a shy smile.

"Regardless," Seven continued, "this kind of technology is unknown to the Borg."

"Perhaps that is why the Collective so desired him," the Doctor hypothesized.

"Clarify," Seven commanded, eyes narrowed.

He brushed off her tone. "The senior staff has been speculating as to what it is about your brother than made him so valuable to the Collective. Why did they try so hard to keep him? Why the multiple reassimilations?"

Seven's eyes widened. "There is evidence of this?"

"He was assimilated many times, Seven," the Doctor said quietly, "and while the numerous attempts all eventually failed, each assimilation served only to further tax his systems. His exoplating was more extensive than that of any Borg I have ever encountered, almost as though they were trying to make him completely cybernetic. I would argue that his physical strength conceivably surpasses that of yourself and Icheb combined."

Her lips thinned. "Why did the assimilations fail? What is about this drone that caused such results?"

They were so busy staring at each other in defiance that they failed to notice Tuvok entering the room.

"I honestly have no idea," said the Doctor, almost at the point of exasperation.

"Perhaps I can offer an hypothesis," Tuvok said.

"Commander," Seven said, inclining her head.

Tuvok nodded in reply. "As you may or not be aware, after the Doctor finished removing the unnecessary implants, he asked the ship's counselor for an assessment."

"I was not aware," Seven countered, "but I fail to see what information Counselor Harris could provide."

She didn't believe in psychology. It wasn't a real science but more a collection of hypotheses and theories derived from little more than guesswork and self-congratulatory thinking. As far as she was concerned, the position of counselor was unnecessary. The Doctor was sufficient to provide therapeutic services in addition to healing physical damage.

Naomi offered an enraptured sigh at the name which Seven found noxious. Granted, Xander Harris was a fine physical specimen, but she thought his humor crude and infantile, much along the lines of Lieutenant Paris. He seesawed between incompetence and profound insight with such frequency that it left many aboard dizzy. After his arrival on Voyager, he had tried for several months to initiate sessions with her, but at last gave up when she forcefully explained to him that his assistance was undesired.

His only saving graces were his deference to the captain and his sincere fondness for Naomi Wildman; that, and his genuine love and devotion to his ward and half-brother Sam Evans. If nothing else, Counselor Harris was a stalwart friend and guardian. She also found it somewhat impressive that though he had reluctantly accepted the post of Counselor, he had steadfastly declined the rank of Lieutenant Commander which went with it, arguing that he had no desire for a commission he had not earned.

Of course, this left him somewhat free from operating within Starfleet parameters, which might very well have been diabolical on his part. The same was often said about Seven herself; many wondered why she hadn't pursued a commission of her own given that she was perhaps the most knowledgeable person in the entire Federation.

It was a comparison she did not favor.

Incredibly, the crewmember to whom Counselor Harris was closest was Lieutenant Torres. He couldn't put to words why this was the case, only that he was drawn to strong and fiercely independent women. Seven found it frankly odd the changes he had brought about in Torres. Her temper was far less explosive and she was, in general, much more contemplative and deliberate in her interpersonal relationships. She could still be quite volatile but was no longer as impulsive and intractable.

"The Counselor has stated, and I concur, that Kurt Hansen is highly telepathic," Tuvok said, "much more so than any other crewmember aboard Voyager, including me and the Counselor himself."

Seven stared. Not only did this information fly in the face of everything she knew about the Borg and the process of assimilation, the fact that it was theorized by Xander Harris made it that much more spurious.

She didn't trust him.

Not only had he refused to explain how he had come to be in the Delta Quadrant, but he refused to discuss his life prior to Voyager at all. Maddeningly, Janeway had never pressed him. This led Seven to conclude that she either had the answers or at least strong suspicions. Had Harris told the Captain of his origins, he could not have picked a better confidante; the woman would take secrets to her grave. It was due only to the Captain's assurance that Seven herself did not launch a full investigation into the mysterious man.

Still, his abilities could not be discounted and had proven themselves invaluable on multiple occasions. Harris was a strong telepath, certainly the most powerful of Voyager's inhabitants, and he had used his abilities to discern the truthfulness and motives of many of the alien species they encountered on their return to the Alpha Quadrant.

Seven was admittedly uneasy with this ability. After being free from the Hive Mind these past few years, the idea of someone so easily gaining access to her private thoughts was unsettling and even somewhat terrifying. At least Harris had never violated her privacy in this manner, at least as far as she was aware.

"I don't understand," said a confused Icheb. "Telepathic species that are assimilated do not retain that ability." He looked at Tuvok and then to Seven. "Certainly the multiple assimilations would have removed it entirely?"

Seven gave a tight nod. She knew of no drones that were telepathic. The primary goal of assimilation was to restructure the drone's synaptic pathways and purge them of any remnants particular to their individuality and original species. That this ... person ... remained telepathic, that his power had only grown over the course of his exposure to the Borg, was intriguing.

She turned to Tuvok. "Was the Counselor able to make contact with him?"

"No," he replied. "He found that Kurt's mind is completely protected from any telepathy he does not wish to recognize."

"And how does this relate to the forcefield he is able to manifest?" Icheb asked.

Naomi's face screwed up in thought. "You believe his shield is a conscious projection of his telepathy. He wants to protect himself, so he projects his power outward."

Tuvok gave her a surprised and respectful nod. Clearly her lessons with Seven were serving her well. "Indeed."

She looked up at Seven. "It's like the telepathic pitcher plant, remember? It was able to project its power in order to lure prey. Kurt is doing the opposite. He's projecting his power to save himself."

Seven considered her words and thought them reasonable.

"That might be partly true," the Doctor interrupted, "but the forcefield has a definite Borg component. I don't believe he would be able to actualize it in this manner had he not been assimilated."

"Then it should recognize me as Borg," Seven said.

"It did not recognize me," Icheb said.

Naomi smiled at Seven. "Maybe it will recognize you as family."

Seven found that thought rather chilling. Naomi Wildman's belief that Kurt had crossed the quadrant in search of his sister was humbling and bewildering. What if it were true? What if he did know of her? What if their biological relationship had become, for him, a biological imperative? What did he expect from her? What did he want?

Would he find her sufficient?

She forced down her disquiet and hesitantly stepped forward, continuing to do so until she reached his side, albeit somewhat unconsciously. She raised a hand and allowed it to linger in midair for a number of moments. When she moved it down, she felt the shield. It flared to life around him. She watched in fascination as her hand moved through the shield with no resistance, coming to land on his arm, her fingers curling around the flesh into which he had carved his name.

Her heartbeat accelerated as she heard a soft intake of breath. Her eyes traveled slowly up his body, finally reaching his face, and she blinked owlishly as his eyes fluttered open.

"Hello," he whispered.

"Hello," she blankly replied. "I am ... "

"Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One."

"I was," she said carefully. "Now I am simply Seven of Nine. You may address me as Seven." She paused. "Who are you?"

He appeared disappointed by her question, a soft sigh escaping parted lips. "She called me Two of Three, but that was my designation, not my name. I am Kurt Hansen."

"She," Seven repeated.

" _Her_."

Seven's fingers tightened around his arm.

The Queen.

"There never was a One or Three," he continued, "or, if there were, they were unknown to me. There was never a purpose to my designation."

Seven leaned down, eyes alight with desperate curiosity. "What did she want with you?"

"To know," he said. "To understand. She needed to know how I could do the things I do so that she could stop me, stop those like me."

"Those like you?"

A brief smile flittered across his face. "Those who can bring chaos to order."

Icheb inhaled.

"Seven," Kurt murmured, "you are unexpected."

"How so?"

"I thought once you were free, you would become Annika again, but Annika is gone. You are Seven and you will always be Seven. That's good."

"How is it good?" Seven demanded.

"Annika was coerced into becoming Seven of Nine. Seven of Nine became Seven by choice. You are strong." Another small smile. "You survived. I always knew you would. She lied to me. She always did."

"Who?" Seven asked roughly. "The Queen? What did she want with you? What did she do to you?"

"So much." His voice bordered on broken. "And she enjoyed it. Never believe she is without emotion, that she is incapable of deception. She is a sadist and she revels in it."

Seven was overcome with fury. Her loathing for the Borg had grown exponentially since the Queen had recaptured her last year. She still sometimes found it difficult to believe the Captain had pursued her, had rescued her; had welcomed her back to Voyager, her new Collective.

"She wants you back," Kurt whispered. "She wants Captain Janeway. She will hurt Voyager to accomplish this."

"She will _fail_ ," Seven seethed.

"We will stop her."

"We?"

"Whether you are Annika or Seven, you are my sister. I will not let her hurt you. I won't let anybody hurt you."

"You do not know me," Seven said, confused by the strong and heady emotions his words engendered within her.

He had already fallen back asleep.


	4. The Magic of Time

Counselor Alexander Harris paced restlessly inside his quarters.

Eight years. He had been trapped in what he now knew was the Delta Quadrant for eight years.

He still didn't precisely understand how. He understood the why, of course, but how it had happened was beyond his comprehension. Not for the first time, he wished he had paid attention when Willow had been tutoring him in science since as far back as he could remember. It wouldn't have helped, naturally; twentieth-century earth science was almost precious in light of his current experience.

He had managed to cobble together a facile explanation from his extremely limited knowledge of temporal mechanics and spatial harmonics, phrases which had no business being associated with the name _Xander Harris_.

That night, that horrible night all those years ago, Glory had used Dawn's blood to force open a gate between all of the worlds, to tear down the walls that separated them. He now knew what she had in fact done was create an interdimensional rift in the fabric of time and space. When he had jumped, he had been displaced not only translocationally, but chronometrically.

Time travel.

It still sounded ridiculous to his ears. Despite everything he knew, had seen, of magic, the concept of time travel had, in his mind, always existed only within the confines of science fiction.

He turned and stared out his window at the interstellar phenomena whizzing by as Voyager traveled comfortably at Warp Six.

He wasn't sure he regretted it. There were moments he thought he did, certainly, and he had no idea if his choice had actually resulted in the desire outcome, but if he had it to do over again, would he?

Probably.

* * *

_He had a revelation as he watched Anya die._

_It no long mattered who won or lost; he didn't care. He was done and grateful for it, but before he went, he would put an end to this. He owed Anya and Buffy that much. If the portal wanted blood, he would feed it, and he would stop Buffy from doing something colossally stupid._

_He turned, watched Giles smother Ben, and felt nothing. And then suddenly Willow was crashing into him, burying her face in his chest, bleating Anya's name, weeping more for him than his dead fiancée, and his resolve deepened._

_He felt Tara lay her head on his shoulder, and everything he wanted to tell her – that he loved her, that he loved what she had done for their Willow, that he was sorry he hadn't gotten to know her better, that he was so happy she had been restored – became irrelevant._

_"Get me up there."_

_She craned her neck toward his line of vision, her eyes widening with recognition and sorrow, and she nodded._

_"Willow." He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her from him. "Willow, it's time."_

_She pulled a face and blinked. "Huh?"_

_Rather than answer, he dipped his head and pressed a ferocious kiss to her mouth, fueling it with every emotion and impulse she inspired within him, with every moment of their twenty years of shared history – both its triumphs and its losses – and thanked whatever god was listening for bringing her into his life._

_And as her arms reflexively went around his neck, he reached down and took Tara's hand. She squeezed gently her goodbye and he extricated himself from Willow's embrace._

_"I love you, Will. Always."_

_"Xan …"_

_He was already gone._

_He materialized on the rickety ledge, the backs of his legs pressed against the parapet, just in time to see Buffy arguing with Dawn. He repressed a sigh and supposed some things would never change._

_"Don't you two ever get tired of fighting?" he whined._

_Startled, they both turned toward him, though neither had the presence of mind to ask why he was there or as to the method of his arrival._

_"Ben is dead."_

_Buffy breathed a sigh of both relief and regret, and nodded. Dawn cocked her head and stared at him._

_"Anya's dead."_

_Buffy's eyes widened with horror as her mouth opened in a silent scream; she shook her head in denial. Dawn continued to stare._

_"It's time for me to go."_

_Buffy looked at him, then glanced over her shoulder at the scaffolding which led down to the ground._

_"No."_

_And she knew, and there was no way in hell she was going to allow that to happen._

_He watched her shoulders stiffen and anticipated every argument and condemnation she was about to deliver, but there was no time. The portal was widening and the walls between the worlds continued to descend as they stood there dithering._

_"Did you think I didn't know?" he asked. "Did you think I'd let you?"_

_She flushed angrily and curled a lip. "It won't work. It has to be my blood."_

_"Dawn is made from you, but she's not you. Who's to say what will work and what won't?" He shook his head. "These decisions aren't yours." He swallowed. "I've watched too many people die. Anya. Jesse, Jenny, Kendra, Joyce." He dropped his eyes. "You."_

_He inhaled sharply and raised his gaze. "Not again. Now it's my turn. I've earned this and I won't let you take it from me."_

_"Don't you dare," she seethed, eyes wide and wet._

_"Two things," he said, ignoring her. "First, I want you go to Los Angeles to tell Cordy in person; no phone calls. Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I loved her, that I never stopped. Don't take Willow with you."_

_"I won't let you do this."_

_"The other. Anya … her," he set his jaw and blinked furiously, "her engagement ring is in the first drawer of her bureau at our apartment."_

_Buffy's face crumpled. She pressed her lips together so as not to cry out, bile rising in her throat and salt stinging her eyes._

_"Make sure it's buried with her. I bought the plot next to Jesse. I want them together." He said this not to Buffy, but her sister._

_Dawn nodded robotically._

_He flashed a pained grin. "Even though Will never liked her, Jess would've. He would've seen all of her crazy brilliance and wondered why it had taken me so long to ask her."_

_He looked once more, finally, at Buffy. "I can't do this anymore. I won't. It's taken everything, I've given everything, and it's never going to stop."_

_"Xander, please," she sobbed. More than anything, it was the quiet defeat in his voice which so terrified her, even more than him dangling on the precipice._

_"You're so much stronger than me. You're still my hero. I love you, Buff. Always did, always will."_

_"Xander!"_

_He raised his arms and tilted his head, shooting her a quick smile and a wink. "What would Buffy do?"_

_He fell backward._

* * *

The next thing he remembered was waking up in small hut on an unknown world that looked suspiciously like his own. Apparently M-class planets were pretty much the same across the galaxy.

 _Galaxy_.

Even now he couldn't believe he had traveled across the frigging _galaxy_. That he was mysteriously three hundred years in the future hadn't fazed him quite as badly, though he didn't understand just why that was. It was the distance, he supposed, the vast distance which he somehow understood meant he would never get home again.

He had hoped for a while, prayed to whatever deity might be listening that Willow was trying to get him back, but then he realized she probably thought he was dead. They all most likely thought he was dead.

That is, if they were even still alive themselves.

Buffy had defeated Glory and he himself had closed the rift, but he had no idea what had happened afterwards. He was hoping they had lived. He chose to believe they had.

In all honesty, it hadn't been too difficult to relinquish his homesickness. He hadn't had much of a life. Other than Willow and Buffy, he had no friends. Giles had only tolerated him. Dawn's memories of him were artificial. He had ruined the happy ending he had once dreamed of with Cordelia. His parents couldn't have cared less if he never came home.

And Anya was dead.

So what was the point, really? What was the point of wishing and hoping and praying when he didn't even know if they were still alive? When he knew they thought he was dead? When Willow, no matter how powerful she was, would never be able to reach across the galaxy and pluck him back to their planet in their time?

He had accepted that. It hadn't taken long. Besides, he had people here who had needed him.

Themis, the planet on which he had found himself, was in the middle of a civil war. Strangely, their civilization wasn't much more advanced than the Earth of his time. Their technology had been about a century ahead of his own, but he could recognize and utilize most of it. Themis had been pre-warp, however, so space exploration, while on the table, was still a long way off.

He had been found in the crater his arrival had created. Most of his bones broken, his skull cracked, his mind shattered, he remembered opening his eyes to find a wide-eyed little blond boy staring at him and asking if he was okay. He remembered laughing and then passing out.

Somehow the boy had brought him to his home, or what was left of it. Most of his town had been blown to hell and back by the war. People were living in hovels; food was scarce; drinkable water even more so.

The Evans family had cared for him and nursed him back to health as best they could, as best as he was capable of recovering. They had been such decent people, such loving people. They had become his family, the parents he had never had and the sibling he had always wanted. The war had already cost them their two youngest children, Steven and Stacey. Sam was all they had left and he was just as devoted to his parents as they were to him.

They had gone hungry so that he might eat. They had stolen supplies so that he might heal. So he had eaten and healed and thanked them for their kindness. To do any less would have been the epitome of selfishness. For almost seven years, in some form or another, they had huddled together, moving from place and place, trying to hide from the insurrectionists desperate to rid Themis of everyone who wasn't a fanatic.

After the first two years, Scott and Savannah had pleaded with him to care for Sam if anything happened to them. He had agreed immediately, foolishly believing they would all survive and wanting to set their minds at ease, to repay some of their benevolence.

They avoided attack for almost three years by moving constantly, changing their appearances, assuming identities and scavenging what they could. Then one night the men had come and taken Scott. That was typical. They always went for the eldest male first. They had never seen him again.

It was that night when Xander first realized he had changed, that his time in the rift had altered him on a fundamental level. The Soldier was back and the Hyena was quick to follow.

He hadn't fought them but instead embraced them. He knew he needed them if he was to help his new family survive.

So he had fought like he had never fought before, like he had never believed himself capable. He had killed so many that night. He would later kill many more. But it was war and he didn't regret it. He regretted the circumstances, he regretted he had been forced to take lives, but he didn't regret keeping his family safe. Still, it had been too late for Scott and he had mourned the only real father he had ever known.

They had evaded capture for the next three years. By then, the war was over in all but name. The entire planet had been devastated and descended into anarchy. He was no longer killing combatants, but looters and rapists and murderers who had devolved to their most base aspects of humanity.

And they were human, not merely humanoid. He had never gotten the entire story of how a race of humans had appeared in the Delta Quadrant and began a civilization on Themis. There were various theories, but most of them disagreed with each other and the truth was lost to time. Scott had believed, and Xander had agreed, that the early humans had been taken from Earth by an unknown alien species and either left on Themis to populate it or as a punishment. No one really knew.

He didn't really care.

His entire world narrowed down to Sam and Savannah, and his only purpose was to keep them safe.

Again, he had failed.

They had been spotted one night by a rogue gang. He knew what it meant, what they wanted and what they would take. He killed more than half of them, but they had already taken hold of Sam and Savannah. So he had made a choice.

He had honored Scott and Savannah by saving their sole remaining child. Sam was sixteen then, a gorgeous kid who drew lots of attention for his looks and body. He was also the kindest, sweetest, and gentlest person Xander had ever known. Sam was his brother in everything but blood and the moment he heard his brother scream _no_ , the decision was easier than it should have been.

He knew he could only save one, so he had shot Savannah in the head to spare her the indignity of gang rape. Then he pulled apart Sam's attackers one by one, piece by piece, before they could violate him. Those deaths were no strain on his conscience.

But he had never forgiven himself. He knew he had done what Savannah would have wanted, what she had expected of him, but the cost was almost more than he could bear. She had been the only loving mother he had ever known and her loss had paralyzed him for weeks afterward.

It had been left to Sam to spirit them away and hide them, to find them food and water and shelter. He had forced Sam to become an adult in ways the war hadn't. He wasn't able to forgive himself for that either.

But Sam had forgiven him. Sam never blamed him. Sam loved him. He had never been loved so unselfishly before.

Sam had never told him this. After Savannah was lost, that's when Xander realized the Soldier and Hyena had been keeping secrets. The rift had not only released his hold on them, but had somehow activated dormant powers he'd never realized he had.

Telepathy.

Empathy.

Psychometry.

There were others, ones he daren't use. Ones that terrified him.

The Hyena had argued that these powers didn't make him less human. He was using portions of his brain most humans never did. He had developed senses most humans had lost over millennia. He was still human; in fact, he was the apex of human psychogenic evolution.

Those weeks after Savannah's death in which Xander had been trapped in his own mind and dangerously ignoring Sam, the Hyena and the Soldier had convinced him that he was still himself, that these abilities weren't magical, that he couldn't use them to get home.

Eventually, he had accepted it. He'd had no other choice.

He had turned to Sam. "You're my home."

And Sam had tackled him and clung to him and was finally able to grieve his mother.

From that moment forward, Sam became his world. It was a duty he didn't regard as such, but as joyful.

"You are my brother."

Sam nodded into his neck and repeated the words.

And then Voyager had come.

* * *

Kathryn looked at him with concern. "Alexander, are you all right?"

He blinked owlishly. "Captain? When did you get here?"

She smiled. "About ten minutes ago. I had to override the security protocols to enter. I called to you several times and even knocked, but you never answered. I came in and stood beside you, waiting for you to notice me. I didn't want to startle you."

He flushed. "Sorry. I was ... somewhere else."

Her concern resurfaced. "Themis?"

He nodded tightly.

She laid a hand on his arm. "I can't even pretend to understand what you and Sam went through, but you survived."

"Not completely," he murmured, looking down. He cleared his throat and raised his eyes. "How is the boy? And Seven?"

Kathryn exhaled slowly. "Naomi was able to convince Seven to return to Sick Bay. Kurt had somehow managed to project some Borg forcefield around his body which denied access to the Doctor. Seven reached through it. When she touched him, he woke."

His eyes widened.

She nodded. "From what he was able to relate, what we suspected is true. He escaped the Queen and set off in search of his sister."

"And what does Seven think of this?"

"She's confused," Janeway admitted, "and hurt, though she'll never admit it. She's angry; furious would perhaps be the better term. I also think she's scared."

"Do you remember what you told me the Queen said to Seven when you rescued her? That Seven was torn between being an individual and being one with the Borg? She was wrong."

Kathryn frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Seven has no desire to rejoin the Collective. She doesn't wish to be Borg. What she wants is to experience the certainty she had while part of them. She knew exactly what to expect, how to proceed." He smiled. "But there's no certainty in a human life."

She considered his words and at last nodded.

"Where's Sam?" he asked, anxiety heavy in his voice.

"Sam's just fine," she said reassuringly. "He's with B'Elanna, who's tutoring him in warp field theory."

Xander shook his head. "I envy him. He's adapted to this so much more easily than I expected, much more easily than I myself have."

"He's a very intelligent young man," she said. "I fully expect him to make Ensign along with Icheb, and the only reason he's doing as well as he has been is because of you. You protected him. You kept him safe. You gave him confidence and a desire to succeed."

His flush deepened. "He was amazing long before I entered the picture."

"Don't sell yourself short, Alexander," she said sharply. "You've been doing that for as long as I've known you. Sam has only come this far because of you. Don't make that out for any less than what it is. He doesn't. I certainly don't."

Her face cleared. "Now why don't you tell me what you really think about Kurt? I know it's far more than what you've suggested."

He averted his eyes.

He couldn't tell her; she'd never believe him. Hell, had he not been born and raised in Sunnydale, he wouldn't have believed it either.

Still, it didn't change the facts.

There was a witch onboard Voyager and everything was going to change.


	5. Establishing Baselines

Kathryn reclined on her chaise longue, twirling an empty wineglass in her hand. She was giving serious thought to refilling it. For the fourth time.

Kurt was heavy on her mind, though he wasn't the only one. Seven, Sam, Alexander … each occupied her thoughts, their tangents winding and unwinding around each other in an endless circular pattern.

There was a lot Alexander hadn't told her, she knew, about Themis and his life prior. She therefore been forced to extrapolate his story from the bits and pieces he had revealed. The overall picture was disconcerting. She knew their relationship would have to deepen considerably over time before she got the answers for which she was so desperate.

She had the sense, almost a foreboding, that Alexander Harris knew far more about this universe and its nature than any ten Doctors or Seven of Nines. He had difficulty rationalizing the mechanics of that universe, its physical properties, but the esoterica, the concepts and rationales of which individuals spent entire lifetimes trying to comprehend, gave him no such trouble.

She wasn't a religious person. She had spent too many years reading and studying the religious wars of Earth and the millions of lives they had claimed. She was, however, spiritual. She absolutely believed that there was more to life that what could be seen and felt with her own hands, though her absolute trust in the scientific method was unshakeable. It was what led her to becoming an explorer.

She was a dichotomy, she knew, an intensely rational person who yet understood that science could not and would never be able to provide all the answers to the meanings of life.

She understood that Seven of Nine was experiencing what was essentially an existential crisis. The Borg philosophy might have been indoctrinated within her, but she had come to respect and even revere it. Now she was asking herself questions for which there were no answers, ones which could only be discovered within herself.

Alexander Harris had no such internal quagmires. He consumed information like a computer, but then correlated it with what he knew to be true and discarded the rest. The odd thing was that he didn't reject out of hand information that conflicted with his views; instead he examined it thoroughly and then made critical assessments.

The interesting thing was that said assessments were usually correct, specifically in terms of psychosocial phenomena and predictors of behavior. He was a social creature, though he had few friends onboard. He was deeply devoted to those he called such and that devotion was thoroughly returned. His relationships with Sam and B'Elanna were prime examples.

Alexander's relationships with women were surprising. Humans had not evolved to the point where misogyny was a foreign concept; instead, social conditioning had merely made it distasteful. Alexander, however, had no qualms about taking orders from a female. In fact, from her observations, he preferred it. He would argue with Chakotay and Tuvok, but never with her. He would question her, yes, but the end result was that he viewed her as his commanding officer.

That was also confusing. He had no military training, yet he was familiar with the terminology and pecking order. He respected it, which had surprised her. Most civilians, after being installed in what was essentially a military operation, began to rebel against its constraints. Yet he never did.

He trusted her, she knew, but only so far. She didn't believe there was anyone he trusted absolutely, not even Sam, a fact which made her sad. His life, she gathered, was a lonely one.

He was also a dichotomy. He was a jokester, a lover of black comedy always ready with a dark quip, and never hesitated to point out the obvious, facts which often flew over the heads of others. He downplayed his intelligence and often second-guessed his own thoughts and behavior, but never those of anyone else.

He could also be stubborn, obstinate, and vulgar, though he often managed to temper those impulses. She believed he had made a concerted effort to master this.

He was perhaps the most humane person she had ever met. His compassion was limitless. There were no lengths to which he wouldn't go for a friend. He had placed his personal safety on the line more than once to ensure the life of another crewmember.

Yet he was also hard and unyielding on certain matters. He didn't necessarily believe in allowing people to prove themselves. He didn't often grant second chances. He believed violence should be met with extreme prejudice. He had no quarrel with taking lives for the greater good of the mission … as long as he believed in said mission.

He was a stalwart soldier with no military training or psychological conditioning.

That was dangerous, a fact she always considered before giving him assignments. He was highly adaptable, like the Borg, but he was also extremely unpredictable. His weak spot was Sam, as everyone onboard knew. He wouldn't hesitate to exterminate anyone or anything that threatened his brother. If it ever came to that, she knew he would experience no guilt or remorse.

"Computer," she said, "locate Counselor Harris."

"Counselor Harris is in the Mess Hall with Lieutenant Torres."

She pursed her lips and sighed. That relationship was somewhat troubling.

Alexander and B'Elanna were as thick as thieves, a fact no one understood and often found frightening. It was true that Alexander brought out the best in B'Elanna: her brilliance; her fierce loyalty; her devotion to her staff and crew. She was a better and more compassionate person for his presence, more thoughtful and deliberate. She didn't appear to understand the fundamental changes he had brought about within her.

And it went both ways. Those instances in which Alexander experienced any kind of emotional crisis, he went first to B'Elanna, a fact which rattled many of the senior staff. B'Elanna was an incomparable woman, but often emotionally volatile.

Then again …

B'Elanna was at her best when counseling the Counselor, kind and understanding, gentle and calm.

If, as she suspected, Alexander had cultivated that relationship for that express purpose, he was indeed as diabolical as Seven had suggested.

That wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

He had insight, _profound_ insight, into not only the human condition, but of _life_.

Whatever he had gone through, whatever had brought him to this moment, she was both grateful and anxious. Her crew was better for having him onboard and his contributions were immeasurable, but she couldn't help but think he was a powder keg whose explosion was not only eventual but would be terrifying in its totality.

There would be challenges to come. Sam was an incredibly handsome boy on the cusp of manhood who was attracting more than his share of attention, particularly from Icheb. Alexander didn't appear too worried, perhaps owing to the fact that Icheb was awkward and insecure, as were most adolescent males.

Some female members of the crew, however, were more predatory and desired to attach themselves to a gorgeous, impressionable young man who they believed could be trained. Kathryn was betting B'Elanna would intercede on Alexander's behalf when such occasions occurred, and she honestly thought it was for the best.

Sam was aware of his beauty but unencumbered by it. His looks were a part of him, but didn't define him. He was much more concerned with his intelligence and proving it, mostly to himself. All in all, he was a bright, attractive, well-grounded young man. She believed this was predominantly due to Alexander, though she was sure the boys' parents had played a fundamental role.

She knew the boys weren't genetically related, but their utter devotion to each other rendered that fact irrelevant. They had become a family by choice and those bonds were often the most impossible to break. She pitied the person who ever dared try.

* * *

"Have you talked to Seven?"

Xander raised a brow. "I've spoken a handful of words to her since I boarded. When I try to approach her, it's as though I'm holding a phaser to her head."

B'Elanna rolled her eyes, sympathetic toward them both. She truly believed her friend could help Seven with her myriad questions about humanity, but she had about as much interest in speaking with a counselor as Seven. If she and Xander hadn't become so close so quickly, she suspected she, like Seven, would go out of her way to avoid him.

He sighed. "Seven will deal with this in her own way, as she does everything else. If she needs direction, I'm the last person she'll approach."

B'Elanna gave an absent nod. "So what's really going on? I know you, Xander. You're worried, and it's a lot more than your usual default state of worrying."

He frowned. "I don't have a default state."

"Your default state is to confront problems, make jokes about them, do your best to help, and then run away to avoid any emotional fallout."

He flushed. "You don't know me," he pouted.

She smirked. "Hey, I'm the same way, so I get it." Her face became grave. "That's why I know this is different, that something is worrying you in a way I've never seen." She laid her hands over his. "That makes _me_ worry."

He ducked his head and sighed again, more deeply and forlornly. He was silent for several pregnant moments, obviously debating internally what to tell her. He knew she wouldn't let it go without a fight and, honestly, he had no desire to alienate his sole confidante. He nervously licked his lips and opened his mouth.

Tom Paris then stormed in and eyed with anger their joined hands.

Xander immediately clammed up as B'Elanna gritted her teeth.

"So this is why you blew me off?" Tom demanded, glaring at Xander before his eyes found those of B'Elanna. "We had a date."

She blinked, obviously having forgotten, which only enraged Tom all the more.

Xander cringed and drew in himself as Tom predictably ranted and raved about their close relationship and its exact nature. When the insinuations began, an aspect he had never before verbalized, Xander and B'Elanna looked at each other and broke out in hysterical laughter.

"You think I'm being unfaithful to you?" she shrieked in mirth, wiping tears from her eyes. "With _Xander_?"

Xander frowned. "It's not _that_ funny."

She whinnied. "Oh, really? Declan might not think so!"

He flushed.

Tom's brow furrowed. "Who's Declan?"

B'Elanna gave him an incredulous look. "Declan Mulcahey."

"Who?"

"Mulcahey! He works in Engineering."

"Oh! The pretty boy!"

B'Elanna smirked.

"What does he have to do with anything?"

Her countenance relaxed into Resting Bitch Face as she gave a snort of disbelief.

Xander cleared his throat, still blushing. "We're seeing each other."

Tom gave an exaggerated blink and slowly panned toward him.

Xander grinned. "He _is_ the hottest guy on Voyager."

"But … but you were engaged to a woman. Anya, right?"

Xander suppressed the grimace of pain threatening to erupt. "I'm versatile."

Now Tom frowned for an entirely different reason. "He is not the hottest!"

B'Elanna looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head.

Xander waved a dismissive hand and then turned to wink at B'Elanna. "Icheb is much too young for me."

She roared with laughter.

Tom went so far as to stomp his foot. "I'm the hottest!"

Xander became coy. "Well, of course you are, but you were already happily taken. If you hadn't been, believe me, I'd have had you on your back screaming for every god you could name five minutes after I boarded."

Another slow blink and Tom beamed, plopping down next to Xander and throwing an arm around the other man's shoulders. "So you're dating Pretty Boy but recognize my magnificence," he said smugly. "Let's talk more about that. What's my best feature?"

Xander released a pained groan and put his head in his hands. "I wish I could say it was your brooding silence."

B'Elanna laughed again.

* * *

Over the course of the next forty-five minutes, Tom asked Xander increasingly personal questions about his relationship with Mulcahey, rousing B'Elanna's ire until she was shouting at him. Xander played along with scant interest. After being interrogated by Cordelia Chase, he could say without compunction that Tom Paris was a total amateur.

When Tom's questions began shifting toward Xander's life before Voyager, that's when Xander called it a night, insisting he had to return to his cabin and check on Sam. He figured B'Elanna would punish Tom appropriately.

He entered the turbolift and nodded at Seven of Nine. "Good evening."

"Good evening, Counselor Harris," she returned after a long pause.

He refrained from asking once again that she address him by his first name. He knew the thought of it distressed her. She conducted herself in a ritualized manner which was both familiar and soothing to her, and she was already more than wary of him.

He stood aside her, though a good three paces away, content with the silence. Seven had never initiated conversation before and he doubted she would now.

Which was why he was very surprised when she did.

She cleared her throat. "Are you retiring for the evening?"

He nodded. "I've just experienced a very long and drawn-out conversation with Tom Paris and now feel the need to crawl into bed and pull the covers up over my head."

"Understandable."

He was so stunned by her quip that he stared at her in confusion before bursting out laughing, heartened when he saw one corner of her mouth lift ever so slightly. It was _so_ slight he almost missed it, but he didn't. He did know, however, to keep his observation to himself.

"I missed Sam," he confessed.

She turned and regarded him for several seconds. "You have great affection for him. You … love … him very much."

"He's my brother."

"You are not subunits of the same progenitors."

"Irrelevant," he said, more sharply than he intended. "There are two kinds of families, Seven: the one into which you are born and the one you make for yourself. I couldn't love Sam more than if he were my genetic sibling. That he's not makes no difference to me."

"He is … your Collective?" she asked.

He realized she was trying to make a connection, not necessarily with him, but with his experience and how it related to her own, to her confusion regarding Kurt.

"I can't reply without prefacing my answer with a question of my own." He paused. "Is this acceptable?"

She appeared to think on it and at last nodded.

"Do you conflate the notion of _family_ with that of the Collective?"

Her lips pursed. "I am unsure," she finally said. "I do not recall a sufficient amount of data from my time with the Hansens to correlate the concepts."

"Acceptable," he said, knowing she detested him less when he employed her speech patterns. "In my admittedly limited knowledge of the Collective, you were of one mind with billions of Borg, correct?"

She nodded, curiosity lighting her eyes.

"My experience with Sam is similar but not equivalent. I have the ability to read his mind, to know his thoughts, but I choose not to because I respect his privacy, his individuality. However, there are moments when we look at each other and are of one mind, not due to assimilation or telepathy, but because of shared experiences, opinions, and worldviews.

"These moments come down to a deep knowing, an understanding of each other on a fundamental level. It takes work to get there. It's not easy. It can be frustrating, intimidating, and, on occasion, terrifying, but it's worth it. To know there is someone in the world who knows you so well, who can intuit your thoughts and feeling without being told, is a rare and precious gift."

He looked down. "If the Collective is being of one mind, family is being of one heart. I know that's more of an abstract answer than a concrete one, but it's the only one I have for you."

She dwelled on his words for the rest of their shared ride. When they reached her deck, she exited, turned toward him, and nodded.

"Thank you for you candor."

He nodded in reply. "Good night, Seven."

She turned on her heel and stalked away when the doors began to close. When they were, he closed his eyes and released a gentle sigh.

"Sweet dreams."


End file.
